“Fran, you’ve always been pretty into…your cause. But things have gotten a little out of hand. You and that app and those movies.”
“I didn’t even meet Lance on HeartLink. And why would you say it like that—thosemovies,”I say, dramatizingher words as if I were a very stuffy British professor. “Romance films are movies too. Like any other movie.” Only they are the verybestkind of movie. But I don’t mention that as I am currently preaching impartiality.
“Oh no. You don’t get to turn me into Lance’s sidekick. I’m just saying what you already know.”
I pull in a breath and stare past my best friend—all the way over to the old brown cuckoo clock that used to belong to Rosalie’s grandma. It’s been in our apartment living room for two years, since Rose’s grandmother passed. And it’s taken me two years to get used to the noise. It goes off every hour.Every single hour. It doesn’t care that Fran is sleeping at three a.m., it’s still going to cuckoo three times.
“I know. I am as consistent as your cuckoo,” I tell her. “But Rosalie?—”
“I know, sweetie. You believe in romance. You believe in happily ever after. It’s one of the things that I love about you.”
It’s how Rosalie and I bonded. Her freshman year of college, she came into the diner to study. I waited on her and told her everything aboutSweet Home Alabama—scene by scene. Six months later, we were roommates. We’ve been together ever since.
Instead, she wraps one arm around me. “When are you coming to my school?”
“Not until next week. Is that okay?”
“Whenever you want. I will make sure that all of my second graders are prepared with love stories for you.”
I scoot close to my friend and lean my head against her shoulder. “Thanks, Rose.”
“You’ll find your person,” Rosalie says. “And I know this research paper for Ellington has you stressed. But remember why you started all this in the first place.”
“Because I believe in love.”
“You do. You believe in love, you believe in the romcom, you believe in happily ever after.” Rosalie truly is the best friend a girl could ask for. She believes in me and my cause—no matter the color of my hair.
Two
The locker roomis full of chatter today. Do they think I can’t hear them talking about me? Do they think I don’t know that every shot I took today was more than a foot off goal? Believe me, I am very aware.
I’m waiting for someone to start chanting, to pull out the pitchforks, to call for my captain’s band.
My sister would slap me for being dramatic—and maybe that’s exactly what I need.
But then I hear it again. “I thought once Simone dumped him?—”
Dumped?Sure, our parting was initiated by Simone, but it was mutual.
“Do you have something to say to me, Reed?” The defender, who I’d normally call a friend, just shrugs. I have other friends. I don’t need Reed. I breathe through my nose, and I swear, like a worked-up dragon, smoke exhales through my nostrils.
“Whoa-kay,” Zev says. My friend swoops an arm around my shoulders and ushers me in the opposite direction as themuttering Reed Westbrook. Zev is the tallest guy on this team—he could frighten the best of men. And yet, he is a gentle giant.
“Whoa-kay?” I say. “Is that a word, professor? Or are you making things up now?”
“You’re a bit high-strung today, Superman.”
“I’m not high-strung.”
“He is.” Lucca walks past the row of lockers we stand in front of, tightening the towel about his waist, water dripping from his hair.
“I don’t like people talking about my relationship, that’s all,” I say to Zev. I ignore Lucca, who I am certain believes the world revolves around him.
“You meanpastrelationship,” Zev says.
I narrow my gaze, processing his words. “Yeah. Of course that’s what I mean.” Simone ended things a month ago.
“But that’s not what you said.” Zev dips his head, studying me.
